


Ready

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Daemon Slayer Iris, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, wedding day nerves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: Gladnis Week Day 5: MarriageGladio's palms are sweating and he can't stop touching his hair. Why the hell is he so nervous?





	Ready

“Fighting daemons was easier,” Gladio grumbled, running a hand through his hair and dishevelling it again.

Iris slapped his hand. “Gladdy!” she scolded, and reached up to tuck the strands back where they'd belonged. Gladio had refused hair grips to keep things in place, but he'd consented to having his hair treated and conditioned. The result was that it was soft, and silky, and didn't want to stay put. Every nervous brush of Gladio's fingers dislodged it from where it had been carefully combed to sit, and Iris had redone it for him twice already.

“Sorry,” he replied, packed with nervous energy he had no way to expel. The suit was tight, cut across a broad chest, and broader shoulders, and Gladio felt like he was tied up and awaiting slaughter. “But fighting daemons _was_ easier,” he insisted.

Iris laughed, and adjusted the buttonhole on Gladio's suit, making the white chrysanthemum sit just right. “It's just the wedding,” she said. “You two have been practically married for years.”

“I know,” Gladio replied, having to fight the urge to pace. He wanted this to be over already so he could shrug the jacket off and toss it, preferably into a fire. Then he'd feel less like a caged animal. “I just wish we'd eloped.”

The back of a hand collided with Gladio's chest in admonishment. “And take away my chance to give you away?” she asked.

Gladio grumbled, “You'd have never let me live it down, would you?”

Iris smiled up at him. She had a scar across her cheek that she didn't try to hide with make up, and another that went down her back that the swooping line of her dress didn't cover, but for all the scars and reminders that this was _Iris the Daemon Slayer_ , Gladio still saw his kid sister. The girl that had cried when she'd confessed she'd got lost and Noct had found her, that had stood so tall and brave in the face of the Empire, that had fled Insomnia when it had fallen and their father had died, not knowing if her brother was still alive or if they'd got to him first. She was strong, she'd always been strong, but she was still Gladio's little sister. “I think dad would have come back from the dead to kick your ass if you'd tried, and I'd have made him get in line.”

Gladio gave a snort. “You think he'd have approved?” he asked. Their dad had always been concerned with his duty, with their duty; he'd given his life for it, as Gladio had been expected to give his, and for years he had, they both had. He'd never realised what a huge sacrifice they'd been making until he no longer had to make it every day.

“I think he'd have said Ignis can do better,” Iris answered, with a bright grin.

Gladio inhaled, deeply. “He can,” he agreed.

Iris tugged on his lapels, pulling them straight. “I suppose he has always had a soft spot for charity cases,” she teased.

“Hey!” Gladio protested, and then sighed. “My hands are sweating,” he admitted, flexing his fingers. “Why am I so nervous?” It was just himself and Ignis, standing before the world they'd helped to save, and promising that the rest of their lives, what they hadn't already given to the world, were for each other.

Iris shook her head at him. “Because this isn't something you can bull rush your way through with a big enough sword,” she said.

A knock came at the door and Monica's head poked through a moment later. “We're ready.”

Gladio found a tissue and dried his hands, feeling his skin tingle all over with anticipation as he headed to the altar to wait. There was a quiet and persistent susurrus in the room as he stood at the front, his hands going sweaty again as he stood there.

Silence seemed to descend from the back, sweeping forwards, and Gladio turned at Iris's pointing to see. Ignis walked with steady poise, his hand resting on Prompto's arm. His suit was a deep coal grey, with a burst of three red gladioli blooms, matching his red tie. He'd eschewed the visor, and he walked towards Gladio with one eye open, and his scars on display.

Gladio exhaled shakily, wiping his hands on his trousers. Ignis always looked beautiful, always, and today he looked regal.

Prompto beamed next to him, his smile brighter than the sun, and he delivered Ignis to Gladio's side, letting Gladio take his hand.

“You made it,” Gladio said, in a whisper, urging Ignis gently nearer with a soft tug.

“An apocalypse didn't keep me away,” Ignis answered, his voice a soothing hush, “what made you think traffic would?”

Gladio could only smile at that and squeeze Ignis's hand. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice growing softer as their guests resumed their seats.

The smile Ignis wore grew soft and gentle. “I'm sure I pale in comparison to you,” he whispered. “I always have.”

Gladio shook his head, and drew Ignis's hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You never, ever will, Iggy.”

Cor cleared his throat, and looked down at them both. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Ignis squeezed Gladio's hand, and turned towards Cor. “We're ready,” he answered.

**Author's Note:**

> Two more to go! Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/atropaazraelle) if you want to see how far along I am with this week, fluff week, and other projects!
> 
> In the language of flowers white chrysanthemums mean loyalty and devoted love, and gladioli mean strength, integrity, infatuation, and remembrance, with red indicating love and passion.


End file.
